


Home (there and back again - a Saviour's tale)

by anxioussquirrel, Katie_Dub



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxioussquirrel/pseuds/anxioussquirrel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katie_Dub/pseuds/Katie_Dub
Summary: Her little brother is saved, the Wicked Witch defeated, and now Emma is back in New York, where she belongs. Only... Does she belong there? She's not so sure anymore. Perhaps a pirate can help her realise that she does have a Home, and she really, really misses it.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86
Collections: CS January Joy





	Home (there and back again - a Saviour's tale)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iverna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/gifts).



> Katie_Dub: Happy January everyone and a very happy birthday to the ever delightful Svenja who prompted this fic. Thank you to Kate for working with me, you made this better than it ever would've been had I worked on it alone.
> 
> Anxioussquirrel: a big THANK YOU to Katie for inviting me to collaborate with her on this project for Captain Swan January Joy. It was an honor and a lot of fun to write the Killian to your Emma, and to work on my first fic in this fandom with you <3

__

_“Don’t you care about them — or anybody_ — _in this town?”_

_“Of course I do! I just_ — _”_ She still couldn’t take the chance she was wrong about him.

She couldn’t, she’d been down this road before, it never ended well. Regina’s twist on Pan’s curse had alleviated some of Emma’s regrets and worries — and that had left her on the verge of marrying a fucking monkey.

So no, she couldn’t stay for Killian, she _wouldn’t._ She was going to take Henry back to New York and its complete lack of magical mayhem (usually).

She returned to her brother’s party and smiled and made nice and then the next day she packed up the bug and headed back to New York.

It took exactly two days for the novelty of being back in New York to wear off. She’d left Henry with Regina while she arranged things for his return, and soon remembered how lonely it could be to live in a big city.

Not that she’d necessarily been conscious of being lonely before, more that as Henry had gotten bigger and more independent and she’d realised that he needed her less she found herself at something of a loss for how to fill her time. (Sometimes she forgot that the memories of her putting him first and not really noticing that all she did was work and raise her kid weren’t real and even knowing that she still keenly felt that confusion of realising that she’d forgotten to take care of herself while taking care of him.)

She’d felt … uncomfortable, like her own skin didn’t fit right, feeling restless and unsure of what exactly she needed to fill that urge. She could see now that this feeling had led her to jump into a relationship with Walsh when she might otherwise have held back. The Walsh Situation had helped her forget all about that unease.

But now?

Now it was so much worse.

Now she had the memory — albeit a tainted memory — of how it felt to have someone, what it was like to really matter to someone.

_“Don’t you care about them — or anybody_ — _in this town?”_

Now she was used to more family than she knew what to do with. Quite literally. That loft was not built for a loving couple, their newborn baby, their adult daughter — who was their own age — and her tween son. And yeah it was frustrating, but now that it was gone, she could see how nice it was to realise that Henry was getting a little too old to be sharing a room with his mom or to be infuriated by the way that Mary Margaret would fuss over her if she felt cold, or how David would glare at Killian when he so much as looked at her.

David spent a lot of time glaring at Killian.

She didn’t expect to ever miss those glares.

She needed her own space. Henry needed _his_ own space. Mary Margaret and David and Leo needed their own space. (OK, maybe that was right back to her needing her own space again, but damn that kid had lungs and for such a tiny, helpless creature he sure knew how to use them.)

But maybe she didn’t have to come all the way to New York to get it.

On day three, Emma found herself restless and unaccountably frustrated. A pent-up … something within her, a nameless need, an unscratchable itch.

It was bloody annoying.

She had already cleaned her apartment from top to bottom. She’d gone out for a walk just to revel in the absolute anonymity of being in the crowds. And she’d bought herself the largest slice of pizza that she almost had to give in and hold with two hands — even with it folded in half. And now she was on the verge of throwing herself on the sofa and sighing like a Victorian maiden on a fainting couch.

She pulled out her phone, intending to distract herself from the discomfort with some mindless scrolling when notifications in the family WhatsApp caught her eye.

It was a photo from David, of Killian holding baby Leo in his arms, her little brother soundly asleep. “Who’d have thought that Hook would be the perfect babysitter?” said the caption. “We’re never letting him leave. 🤣 ”

There was a follow up from Mary Margaret. “We mean it. I just got four hours’ solid sleep. That’s the first time in … when was Leo born? A week ago? FOREVER?? All I know is that I feel like a new woman.”

Emma stared hard at her phone.

But David didn’t even like Ho— Killian. His name was Killian, and the fact that David was so unwilling to use it showed just how bizarre this whole exchange was.

Emma’s fingers moved before she was entirely conscious of what she was doing. She was so glad that Mary Margaret had insisted that everyone needed phones when everything kicked off with Zelena -- it meant she could give Killian a piece of her mind.

“Swan!” Emma could hear the beaming smile in Killian’s voice, and could picture exactly how he’d be looking at her if he were with her. Inexplicably the sound made a lump appear in her throat.

“Hi Killian.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, love?”

“What are you doing with Leo?” Emma blurted out, unable to keep a harsh edge out of her tone that she really hadn’t meant to put there.

“What?” There was no mistaking how hurt and taken aback Killian was. _Shit._

“I — I just. David sent a picture. Of you. With him. The baby him.” _What the fuck are you saying?_ Emma screamed at herself. _Use real words, you moron!_ She took a deep, steadying breath. “There’s a picture of you cuddling Leo and —”

“— naturally you presumed I was doing something terrible to him.” Killian’s voice was as cold as ice.

_Mayday, mayday, abort, abort!_

“I what? No I —”

“I can assure you that I’m quite fond of the little prince and he’s taken something of a shine to me — as much as a baby can.” Oh the heat was back in Killian’s voice now, Emma could practically feel his temperature rising along with his ire. “He sleeps when I hold him and I’m happy to do that for _your parents.”_

There was something in the way that he emphasised _your parents_ that left Emma feeling particularly ashamed. Because he was trying to prove how he was helping where she should be. It was enough to make her want to yell back at him. In fact, she was definitely going to do exactly that.

“Thank you for both your concern and your faith in me.” Killian hung up when he had delivered his parting shot, leaving Emma glaring at her now silent phone.

As her anger subsided it finally occurred to her that maybe, just maybe he had been trying to show her just how much he still cared.

Shit.

Watching Emma leave Storybrooke over a year ago as she escaped Pan’s curse had been one of the hardest things Killian had done in recent memory. It held the weight of could-have-beens, of brand new hopes killed in the bud and futures that could never be explored.

But knowing that it was the only reasonable solution to life’s new cruel twist had helped — telling himself that at least she and Henry had a chance at a good life together, somewhere out there. It had almost been enough, on those nights when insomnia or excess of rum had him lie in bed wide awake, assaulted by what-ifs.

And then she was back — he _brought her_ back — and for a wild, careless moment he let himself hope.

Which, of course, made it all the harder to see her leave again now, back to New York. Harder because it was her own decision this time and though Killian thought he understood the fear that kept her running, it didn’t lessen the sting of rejection.

But also harder because there was nothing for him to do.

Last time, whisked back to the Enchanted Forest by the curse, Killian had kept himself busy. He had his mission and his freedom to roam anywhere he wanted. Now, he was a captain without his ship or any other means of transportation, trapped in a little town in Land Without Magic with a bunch of people whose feelings towards him ranged from mild distaste to extreme dislike, and he had nothing to do.

The future looked bleak.

Or so he thought.

They all ended up at Granny’s somehow, after waving Emma goodbye — everyone a little morose, the usual chatter muted somewhat. Killian was honestly planning just to pass through and hide in his quarters upstairs, to tend to his sore heart with the bottle of rum he’d prepared just for the occasion, but between Ruby passing him a beer without asking and Mary Margaret smiling and nodding to an empty seat beside her, he felt obligated to stay. Which was fine. That bottle wasn’t going anywhere.

“How are you holding up?” Mary Margaret asked in that sympathetic tone she excelled at. “I know you were hoping Emma would stay, too.”

“Aye. But she is her own woman and I have to respect her decisions. I only hope she finds what she is looking for out there.”

Sadness flashed over Mary Margaret’s face, quickly covered with her usual sunny smile.

“Sometimes people need to take a longer route to happiness before they are prepared to accept it. I believe everything will work out sooner than we expect.”

Killian wished he could share that sentiment. Alas, experience of his unnaturally long life had taught him otherwise. Hoping for things to work out or end well had never brought him much beside grief. (And yet, like a fool, he kept trying again and again.)

Mary Margaret yawned widely, covering her mouth with her free forearm, the one not occupied by a fussing baby. Her laughter had a note of embarrassment to it when she blinked away the moisture in her tired eyes, and Killian took notice of the dark circles around them for the first time.

“Sorry,” she chuckled softly. “Leo is not a fan of sleeping through the night. Or at all, really.”

As if on command, the little prince let out a little mewling sound that quickly escalated into a full-on bawl. Mary Margaret started rocking him gently. Neither the motion, nor her soft shushing appeared to have any effect on the boy.

Killian raised his eyebrows, quietly impressed at the apparent strength of the little one’s lungs. “I admit I am no expert, but I was under the impression that _all_ infants did was sleep,” he said.

“Well, yes, clearly Leo didn’t read the manual,” Mary Margaret sighed. “Honestly, I don’t think he’s slept through more than a couple hours in a row once since he was born.”

“That must be taxing.”

She let out a short, sharp laugh that sounded just a tad unhinged before curling over Leo, stroking his little hand. “Yeah, well. Maybe a bit. I just wish—”

“Here,” David came over carrying two plates and put one in front of his wife before slipping into the booth opposite with his own. The baby’s cries intensified before either of them could eat anything, though, and David’s shoulders drooped. He struggled to his feet again, clearly as exhausted as Mary Margaret. “Okay, you eat, I’ll take him.”

Killian shifted in his seat. It was time for him to go; lick his wounds in solitude. Besides, the sound really was ear-splitting this close. He’d had no idea that babies were so loud. He turned to Mary Margaret.

“How about I’ll just let you eat your dinner and—”

She gave him a blinding, relieved smile. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Killian.” And before he knew it, a squirming bundle was placed in his arms, right in the crook of his left elbow.

Killian froze, terrifyingly aware of his hook resting inches from the fragile, blanket-swaddled flesh, and instinctively turned his wrist to make sure the pointy end was tucked away. It didn’t feel safer at all, so he put his good hand on the baby’s belly to make sure it didn’t… roll away and fall? Could newborns roll?

“Wait, I’ve never really held one, is that— How do I—?”

Mary Margaret smiled. “Just like this, make sure to support his head. You’re doing great.”

David looked like he wanted nothing more than to grab his son and take him as far away from any nasty pirates as he could, but his wife put her hand on his forearm and he settled, grudgingly sitting back down and reaching for a fork.

Killian focused on the infant in his arms — so tiny and so light, it barely weighed anything at all. The prince was still bawling, his little face red and all scrunched up in misery.

“Now, little one, what are you so unhappy about, eh?” Killian inquired, tapping his fingers lightly on the blanket. Leo paused with his little mouth open. His blue eyes were a bit unfocused but seemed to be trained on Killian’s face. And then he just… stayed like that. The silence was deafening.

Killian didn’t dare look away in case it might break the spell. He kept tapping his fingers gently and the baby wiggled his arms and blinked slowly; yawned. It didn’t take long before the boy’s eyes fluttered closed.

When Killian looked up, both David and Mary Margaret were staring at him in astonishment. She shook out of it first.

“Quick, let’s eat, he may wake up at any moment,” she said and dug in, but not before shooting Killian a grateful look. “Thank you, baby whisperer. You are our saviour.”

Killian laughed it off as nothing, just a lucky break, but Leo slept right through the next hour, tucked securely in his arms, and only woke up when David took him over to go back home. The Charmings said their goodbyes, with warm smiles for Killian and jokes about finding him the next time they needed to settle their son, and he returned to his room feeling inexplicably lighter than he had a few hours before. The rum got much less use than expected that night.

That may have been it, only the next day he met frazzled-looking Mary Margaret near the docks. She was pushing the pram with her screaming son in it, trying to rock him to sleep, and she seemed dangerously close to tears herself. It couldn’t be easy for her, Killian realized — what with that whole Zelena business and delivering the baby and seeing her daughter leave again — so he offered, jokingly really, to take over for a few minutes, let her catch a breath.

Leo fell asleep almost as soon as he was placed in Killian’s arms again.

Mary Margared did cry.

And so within days the impossible happened — thanks to one tiny prince and his propensity to falling asleep on one hardened pirate captain, Killian Jones had gotten much closer to the Charming family than he’d ever thought he’d be. It felt good, to be useful; to be wanted, if only for that strange talent he’d never guess he had. He didn’t feel so alone.

When Emma called, three days after her departure, seeing her name flash on his talking phone made Killian’s heart do a little flip in his chest.

For some reason, he hadn’t really expected to hear from her — as if her leaving Storybrooke for New York was equal to being in different realms forever, with no ways to communicate. He could barely suppress his glee at the prospect of hearing her voice, now, the cheerful mood from the little good things that happened during the day bubbling up as soon as he managed to pick up the phone. He wanted to tell her all about it — about being able to be there for her parents, to _help_ ; about Granny still smiling at him at the diner, even without Emma being there; about Henry asking if he’d take him on another boat trip soon. He wanted to hear what her days were like; to ask if she was happy there. He wanted—

He _didn’t_ want to hear that hostility in her voice; the implied accusation. _Pirate_ , it said, and it threw him back momentarily, to his first weeks in this realm when he _was_ nothing but a pirate to everyone. It stung, and he reacted on instinct, lashing out — and perhaps the celebratory rum he’d had while sitting in his room didn’t improve anything but… he was only trying to _help_. To be there when she couldn’t. To deal as best he could.

He knew he’d overreacted the minute he disconnected the call. But there was nothing for it, now. Emma didn’t sound like she _wanted_ to truly talk, anyway. He could hear the ire in her silence as well as if she’d expressed it out loud.

Fortunately, he still had half a bottle of rum to dull the hurt enough to fall asleep.

Emma hadn’t really planned on taking on any jobs so soon after returning. Only. It was either that or sit and stew over the disastrous call with Killian. Not that she’d been thinking about it. Much.

OK, maybe she’d lain awake for a while thinking about how badly her words came out. Or trying not to. It left her feeling heavy and sick.

Bloody Killian with his stupid voice and his stupid curse words and his stupid … everything making her all tongue-tied. This was all his fault. She’d gotten so mad at him for flustering her that she was a total asshole to him and that’s just on him.

She hadn’t slept well in all of her righteous indignation.

And when she woke up overtired from lack of sleep she also had the dawning realisation that she was just an asshole. Unintentionally. She felt sick at the thought of how she’d offended him and the best way forward was just to throw herself into some work and move on.

She’d always found getting dolled up for honey traps ridiculous and tiresome and it was even more so now that she had gotten used to being around someone who seemed to appreciate her without the makeup. Hell, Killian had kissed her in Neverland when she hadn’t showered for several days. And he’d made all of those grand, romantic gestures then too.

It kind of threw the nonsense of showering and shaving and styling her hair and slapping on makeup and squeezing herself into a tiny dress into sharp relief. There were decent men out there, who liked women just as much when they were themselves.

But, well, she wasn’t trying to snag herself an eligible bachelor, she had a skip to catch.

Chad Hunter was depressingly crooked. Another sleaze who was hunting for hook-ups while his wife and kids wondered if he was ever coming home.

He lived up to the full dudebro potential of his name — leering at her breasts, grabbing at her ass, ordering an extra strong cocktail for her despite her request for a seltzer. And the worst of it was that he had the fucking audacity to look a little bit like Killian.

If you squinted.

Or maybe it was just the slightly messy dark hair, and the blue eyes that had her thoughts turning back to Killian. Chad didn’t compare favourably to her pirate at all.

Not that Killian was hers.

_He could be hers._

She shoved that thought down along with the wave of guilt it brought.

She suffered through half a drink and a dozen anecdotes stolen from reddit before Chad grabbed her thigh and she lost it. In moments the skip was cuffed and on his way to the closest police precinct.

Leaving her better off financially — which really did make her wonder if she needed to look at her bank account as it had only just occurred to her that an apartment that size in the city wasn’t really affordable on her salary. There had to have been some kind of financial windfall built into that curse that surely had dissolved when the spell was broken.

_Maybe you should just go back home._

She shoved the thought down. She didn’t have a home. She was where she needed to be, where Henry could be safe. And where she got to be groped by lowlifes for a living.

_Killian would never_.

And she’d circled right back to thinking about Killian. It wasn’t an entirely straightforward or logical leap, but there it was. She should really apologise to him for being an ass. He deserved to not be treated like one of her skips.

Urgh.

She waited until she was back home with a glass of whiskey in hand before she eventually took a deep breath, her heart pounding, and clicked call.

“Yes?” Killian’s voice was — well, not the opposite of yesterday, but just — devoid of emotion and, strangely, hushed. She hadn’t realised how, how ... vibrant he usually was until he suddenly wasn’t.

Damn she fucked up.

“ImsorryIwasadick” Killian’s reaction to her call sent her stress levels soaring such that her throat seemed to close in anxious anticipation and all her words came out as one incomprehensible mess.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I feel so bad for being a dick to you last night when you were being a good guy — when you _are_ a good guy — and were just looking out for my family. So I’m sorry. Um. That’s it.”

“Oh.” Killian sounded — surprised? — yeah, definitely surprised. Whether it was a good kind of surprise or a “Luke, I am your father” kind of surprise, she couldn’t say at all.

“Thank you,” his voice was soft again and she slumped down in relief. “But, um —”

“You don’t have to want to be friends or anything,” Emma jumped in quickly to say before he could finish his thought, “but you deserved a sorry.”

“I really appreciate it,” he whispered, voice warm. “I’m just currently having dinner with your parents and Henry and it would be rude to keep them waiting.”

Emma’s insides twisted at that. Whether it was the mention of her family, or the fact that he was there, or the fact that she wasn’t, or the realisation that she was entirely alone, or all of the above she couldn’t say.

“I’m sorry to cut this short though.” Killian did sound genuinely sorry and that was sort of a good feeling.

“That’s ok. Err… bye then.”

Killian put away the phone and returned to the table, where Mary Margaret and David were listening intently as Henry tried to explain something called “role-playing games” to them. As soon as Killian approached them, though, all eyes turned to him.

“I apologize,” he said, sitting down on the chair he’d previously vacated. “That was Emma calling.”

Mary Margaret straightened in her seat. “Oh! How is she?”

“I— don’t really know. I informed her that we were having dinner together and that it was not the best time to talk.”

“Oh.” Mary Margaret deflated visibly, but then perked right back up. “Oh, but we could call her together! That would be almost like having her here with us, wouldn’t it? We could even try to make a video call, though it doesn’t always work here at the loft.”

Killian frowned. “Oh, I’m not sure—” The last thing he needed was everyone hearing the tension between them right now.

Mary Margaret was already fiddling with her own phone, though, and Killian resigned himself to, in the best case, an awkward conversation, when David unknowingly came to the rescue, putting his hand on his wife’s.

“Let’s just eat. There’s no telling when Leo loses his patience, and I’ve recently learned not to take eating meals while they’re still hot for granted.” He chuckled and looked affectionately at their son, who was, for once, contentedly lying in his rocking device, waving his tiny fists at toy animals dangling overhead. “We can call Emma tomorrow.”

“But I want to know how she’s doing out there,” Mary Margaret protested, even as she reached for the lasagna Regina had sent with Henry.

“She’s good,” Henry said, handing her his plate when she reached for it. “I talked to Mom yesterday, she said she was enjoying settling back into city life, that the apartment was ready and that she couldn’t wait till I joined her.” His voice was cheerful, but the grimace that flashed over his face made Killian ask,

“So when _are_ you going to join her?”

Henry’s open expression clouded over. “I don’t know. Not yet? I still want to spend at least a week here with all of you. Maybe two? Mom hasn’t agreed yet, but she hasn’t said no either. I’m working on convincing her.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “I miss her. I know it’s only been a few days, but I really do. It feels like we’ve only just gotten her back and now she’s gone again.” She took a sip of her juice and blinked the glassy sheen out of her eyes. “Oh, well. Everyone needs to find their own place, I guess, even if it’s away from their family.”

David nodded. “I know. I miss her too. And not just because I’m stretched so thin, being the only sheriff now.” He chuckled, rubbing at his tired eyes. “I may need to look into hiring a deputy, eventually. I mean, I hope the peaceful times last now, but you never know here.”

“It makes sense to have more than one officer of the law,” Killian said, nodding. “You can’t be available at all times, especially with a newborn at home.”

“Exactly. I was thinking about maybe asking Leroy? He’s always around anyway.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “I’m not quite sure he’s the best deputy material.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, how about Killian? He’s not working anywhere at this time, are you?” She directed the last question to him, and Killian almost choked on his bite of lasagna.

“No, but I’m not quite certain—” he started. David spoke at the same time.

“I’m not so sure—” His glance at Killian was as suspicious as it was apologetic. “I think I’ll wait some more, first. Maybe it won’t be necessary, after all.”

They finished their meal in silence, interrupted only with little comments about the food and plans for the next day. When they were done, Killian gathered all the dishes and carried them to the kitchen, but Mary Margaret shooed him out when he tried to help with the cleaning.

“We’ll deal with that later, don’t worry about it,” she said with a warm smile. “Could you walk Henry home to Regina’s, though? I know it’s out of your way, but I don’t want him going alone in the dark and it’s time for Leo’s bath and feeding.”

Indeed, the little one was starting to fuss; it was definitely time to get going. Killian gave the little bow that never failed to make Mary Margaret smile.

“Of course. Thank you for the meal, let me know if you need me to mind Leo at any time.”

“Oh, you can bet on that.” She laughed.

Henry said goodnight to his grandparents and tickled his uncle, grabbed his coat and bag and followed Killian outside.

The streets were mostly empty, even though it wasn’t that late yet; Storybrooke didn’t have a vibrant nightlife at all. Killian wondered if that was one of the things Emma had missed — that made her flee to the big city with all those strangers and late night bars and anonymity.

There was a chill in the air that reminded everyone winter was not far off. They walked in silence for a while, and then Henry said,

“I don’t want to go to New York.”

Killian glanced at him; the lad’s face was set in a mutinous frown.

“Didn’t you like it there?” he asked cautiously.

“I did, when I didn’t remember about all this. But all of our family is here. Everyone who’s important. I don’t see why we should leave you all behind to go somewhere we’re alone.”

“Well, I’m sure your mother has your best interest at heart,” Killian said, even though his heart thumped traitorously at the _“_ you all _”._

“She _thinks_ she knows what’s in our best interest, but she’s _wrong_!” the boy insisted. “Our place is here! I just need to find a way to convince her.” He turned a calculating look at Killian. “Hey, maybe if we try together… Mom cares about what you think.”

“She does?”

“Yes! We could plan a way to show her it’s a much better idea to stay here. We could call it… Operation Boomerang. You know, there and back again.” 

Excitement was evident in Henry’s expression; he was bouncing a little bit as he walked, too. Strange warmth spilled through Killian’s chest, and it was an immense effort to put a stop to it.

“Henry, I don’t think we should do that.”

“But _why_?”

“Your mother is her own woman, with the right to make her own decisions. If she decided moving back to New York is best for the both of you, despite your arguments to the opposite, that is _her_ choice.”

“But—”

“A man should never manipulate a lady; not even into choosing what he feels is better for her. That’s not good form. Who we are to decide for Emma, eh?”

Henry’s face fell, his whole posture radiated gloom now. “I guess.”

“Good lad. Now come, I’m sure your other mother is waiting for you.”

They walked in silence for a while. They were almost at Regina’s gate when Henry turned to him, his expression unsure. “But you’ll take me on the boat again, right? You won’t stop spending time with me now that Mom’s away?”

Something clenched in Killian’s heart, painfully fond. “Of course not. Let me make sure it’s okay with Regina and we can go at any time. You’ve got my phone number too, right? You can contact me whenever you want. Any time, I promise.”

Henry nodded, looking away. He seemed relieved, the set of his shoulders looser, less guarded. “Okay. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Henry.”

Emma was watching TV — if you could call staring vacantly at the screen while scrolling on her phone, hoping for something, _anything_ that sparked joy, _watching_ — when her phone rang.

Killian’s face flashed on her screen and she nearly dropped it with shock.

Well that certainly did spark joy.

“Hi,” she said, trying to pour all her excitement and gratitude that Killian had not given up on her into a single syllable.

“Hello Swan, I — I was sorry that I couldn’t talk earlier and I thought that you might like to talk now. Unless it’s too late of course?”

“No!” She answered quickly, dreading yet another call cut short. Although, she found that she couldn’t actually think of anything to say. She opened and closed her mouth wishing away the silence, but it just grew and grew, swelling up and overtaking everything, infesting the air around them, probably beaming right through the phone network until —

“I feel I should warn you that Henry’s plotting.” Killian’s voice was grave.

Emma laughed — both at her own dramatics and Killian’s.

“What now?”

“Operation Boomerang. He hopes to bring you back h— back to Storybrooke.”

The words dropped like a weight in Emma’s stomach. She knew that Henry didn’t want to leave, he’d hardly been quiet on the subject, but this went beyond a little pre-teen rebellion, and it made her feel deeply uncomfortable, like maybe she was actually doing the wrong thing.

“I made it clear that I won’t help him, of course.” — That weight in her stomach got a little heavier. —”One does not just ignore a lady’s wishes. But if he’s reaching out to me, he’s perhaps feeling a little desperate.”

The temptation to lash out at those words was intense. _How dare Killian criticise her parenting like that?_ hissed a voice inside, except — he hadn’t, he hadn’t been rude or critical or anything. He was simply stating how he saw things, to help her. And that anger? It’s because she knew he was right and what’s more, she wasn’t sure she wasn’t doing the right thing for anyone.

"I'm sorry if I misspoke, Swan, but I hope that you'll forgive my intrusion."

She hadn't realised that she'd been quiet for so long.

"Oh, um. No, that's OK. I just…" she trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

"Might I make an observation?"

"Sure."

"You told me that you'd know home when you just missed it. Don't you miss u— _it_ at all?"

Well that was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Emma thought that she knew the answer, but she wasn't ready for it yet.

"How was dinner?" So she changed the subject. Naturally. Running metaphorically if not literally.

(Killian Jones was going to have to get up earlier if he wanted to trick her into confronting her feelings.)

And she kept changing the subject and avoiding talking about feelings with Killian until she fell asleep.

And thus started a pattern of talking to Killian every evening that quickly became the best part of her day. She liked just hearing about life in Storybrooke, even if it often caused her pangs of jealousy and guilt and insecurity and sometimes that meant her finger hovered over the end button on the call, until she could divert conversation to safer topics.

But still, she called, because hearing about it was better than nothing, and hearing about it from Killian was even better still. Not because she fancied him — as he would put it — he just had a way with words, and a nice voice, that didn't mean anything other than that she could appreciate eloquence.

"Your mother's threatening to plan a ball," he said one evening, over a week into their new nightly routine. 

"A ball?"

"A social gathering with dancing in highly impractical gowns."

"I know what a ball is." Emma rolled her eyes as she spoke, even though Killian couldn't see her. "But why?"

"You know how she gets, epining on the wonders of love and hope and happily ever after, and, being a royal, she assumes that the best place to find that is at a ball."

Emma's insides did something strange at the thought of Killian finding happily ever after. Something that left her with actual pain in her stomach, chest and jaw. She was incredibly uncomfortable. She was going to have to hang up this time, for sure.

"I should warn you, Swan, she did refer to you returning for this soirée. You might have to start preparing your soul if you were inclined to stay in New York instead."

The pain vanished entirely at the realisation that she could be part of Killian's happily ever after.

"God, I might as well just let her kill me. It would be better than dying of embarrassment on the dance floor." She laughed at herself.

"What on earth could be that embarrassing?"

"Oh I can't dance. Not very princess-y."

Killian laughed then too. "Then you're in luck. There's only one rule." His voice turned dark and seductive. "Pick a partner who knows what he's doing."

"And that's you?" She intended to laugh off his flirting but her words came out breathless.

"Always."

How could one word be so impossibly hot? She had no idea, but she found herself going a little weak at the promise wrapped up in that simple statement.

Luckily for her he turned off the charm and moved on to other topics, or she might’ve melted into her couch. (She was definitely grateful for the lack of flirting. Absolutely.) And, as had become a habit with her, soon she found herself drifting off to the sound of his voice.

_She was in a fabulous red ball gown — and she was not the kind of person who said “fabulous”, which just shows how special the gown was. The bodice was tight — uncomfortably so, honestly, but it did wonders for her figure — the skirt full. It was made of silk, or maybe satin, something vibrant and luxurious that looked, and made her feel, like a million dollars._

_She was swishing around an opulent dance floor with Henry, giggling at how neither one knew the steps, just trying their best to stay out of others' way._

_Her mom and dad stood to one side, dressed in what she thought of as their fairytale royal clothes. Next to them was Killian, but instead of pirate leathers he wore a regal golden brown coat, though she noted that even when dressed in princely attire the man couldn't fasten his top buttons. Her little brother was cradled in Killian's arms and, by the way he rocked as he stood chatting with her parents, she presumed Leo was asleep. He really looked like part of the family, and that made her feel warm inside. He laughed at something one of them had said and his whole face lit up, his smile wide, eyes sparkling — how,_ how _, could anyone be that handsome? Then he caught her eye._

_She immediately stumbled._

_The full force of that smile aimed at her was just too much for her simple heart — and pathetic dancing ability — to take._

_“You OK mom?” Henry asked and she looked back at him, face heating up as she realised that she had no idea how long he had been talking for._

_“Yeah, I’m just channelling Mia Thermopolis.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Haven’t we watched_ The Princess Diaries _yet? We’ve got to fix that.” Henry made a face. “Don’t give me that look, it’s a classic. But anyway, I’m terrible at the princess thing.”_

_“I wouldn’t say that, Swan,” Killian’s voice broke in behind Henry. She tripped over her feet again. He tapped Henry on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in lad?”_

_Henry grinned, made a short bow to Killian, the picture of princely decorum, then scrambled off with all the grace and elegance of a baby rhino on rollerblades._

_Killian bowed and offered her his hand, “milady.”_

_She took it, heart pounding and throat tight, a nervous excitement that brought warmth and happiness._

_“So what were you saying?”_

_“You said that you’re terrible at the princess thing. Well, it appears to me that you’re a natural.”_

_She chuffed at his words, even as she scoffed because she knew that she must’ve embarrassed — if not herself, Mary Margaret, with her poor dancing._

_“Did you see me dancing?”_

_“Ah, but now that you have a partner who knows what he's doing, no one would know that you weren’t born waltzing.”_

_She had to confess that it was true that being held and led by Killian did make sashaying around the floor significantly easier._

_“Thank you, Killian.”_

_“What for?”_

_For helping my family whenever you can. For caring about them as much as you do me. For looking at me as if I could never disappoint you..._

_“For making everything easier.”_

_His eyes softened, for once it seemed that she had said exactly the right thing. “Always,” he breathed._

When Emma woke up, she was filled with such a longing for home, for family, for Killian, that she immediately reached for her phone. The bug was in for repairs and she couldn’t wait weeks for that new part to be back with her family — she couldn’t.

She had a Home, and she missed it far too much. She had to go back.

“Emma —” Killian sounded half asleep and completely alarmed, she had the slightest twinge of guilt at that.

"Killian?" She blurted out. "Can you come get me please? I need to come home."

Evenings in Storybrooke were the worst.

It was when ghosts came out to play. Alone in the silence of the rented room, there wasn’t much to distract Killian from unwanted thoughts about people he’d lost, experiences that left him scarred and futures that were unlikely to come.

At least that’s how it used to be.

Now, over the course of a week or so, evenings had become his favorite time of day. That was the time when Emma always called.

They’d never discussed the fact that it’d become a routine of sorts, and Killian wouldn’t dare to take it for granted, but the fact was that she’d called every evening without fail so far, and every night they stayed on the phone longer. He always asked about her day and she told him a bit, bringing up little things that surprised him or made him smile. But that part was always brief. Soon, she wanted to know about everything happening in Storybrooke — every little detail, inquiring about everyone she knew, even though it was only 24 hours since he last told her.

He took to watching people more carefully as he moved about town, remembering every detail to report to Emma that night. He caught himself doing it, sometimes — preparing the story in his head as he helped Mary Margaret with Leo or spent time with Henry, or assisted Granny with some repairs. It made him smile to himself, that prospect of telling her about all that, and not just because he loved talking to her. With every passing day the longing in her voice grew more obvious as he described first snow making the town look picture-perfect or reported on the diagrams for Operation Boomerang that Henry kept “accidentally” leaving at the loft.

She missed home. Killian had no doubt about that. And maybe one day she would be ready to admit it, but he didn’t hold out hope. As wonderful as she was, Emma Swan was also one of the most stubborn people he knew. So for now, he just enjoyed their nightly talks.

He enjoyed them so much, in fact, that last night he’d turned down Leroy’s invitation to go get drinks with the dwarves and some others just so he could be in his room when she called. It came out easily, without thinking, and later he wondered if it was a smart move. He would be living in this town for the foreseeable future. He shouldn’t discourage attempts to invite him into the community.

But any doubts were forgotten as soon as Emma called. And when she fell asleep still on the phone with him, after a long, comfortable conversation full of laughter and friendly bickering, Killian stayed with the device pressed to his ear for a long, quiet moment, listening to her breathe. Lying on his bed in the dark, he could close his eyes and imagine she was right next to him.

But it felt somewhat illicit, to listen to her when she was not aware, so finally he disconnected with a whispered “Sweet dreams, love”. And if he dreamed of her that night — well, that was not anything new.

Killian was shaken from sound sleep by an awfully loud, incessant noise right by his ear. He jerked awake, already halfway to upright and searching for his cutlass, and it took him a few breaths to note where he was (his room at Granny’s, in Storybrooke), when (some ungodly morning hour, with dawn just barely breaking outside), and what the noise was (his phone, which he left by his pillow last night).

Also, there was no cutlass at hand.

The next thing to register was Emma’s name flashing on the phone’s front ( _screen_ , Henry said), and then Killian almost managed to drop the whole thing in his hurry to touch the little green button. If she was calling at this hour—

“Emma—”

"Killian? Can you come get me please? I need to come home."

Her voice was urgent, but not distressed, and he managed a fraction of a second of relief before the meaning of her words registered, and then his heart sped up further.

“Did something happen, love?”

“No, no. Nothing happened, everything’s fine. Everything except I’m _here_ and you’re all _there_ and I miss you like crazy and just— It’s time to come home. Could you come get me? Help me pack up and transport everything?” She hesitated. “I mean— I know it’s far and you don’t have to, I’m sure I can manage—”

“Of course I’ll come, Emma. I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise.”

Her “thank you” was soft and heartfelt, and then she disconnected and Killian sat on his bed for a moment, staring at the wall opposite, wondering if his dreams were getting more realistic. But no. Emma really did call, didn’t she? She really asked him to come take her home. This was not a dream, though it felt like it.

He was going to see her. _Soon._

There was only one little problem.

Killian was dressed in record time and halfway to the Charmings’ loft when he realized just how early it still was. They would probably not take it well if he woke them up pounding at their door. Forcing himself to be patient, he took a detour to the bakery, grabbed coffee and hot chocolate to go at Granny’s, and by the time he arrived at their door, he could clearly hear the baby’s crying and Mary Margaret’s singing. He knocked softly.

David looked half-dead on his feet as he opened the door. Killian handed him the coffee carrier and the bakery bag before he could voice any thoughts on such an early visit, and then went right down to business.

“Emma called. Can we talk?”

That was enough to grant him entry and get both Mary Margaret’s and David’s attention immediately. Ignoring how strange it was to see Emma’s parents in their nightclothes, Killian walked over to where Mary Margaret was sitting with Leo, an empty milk bottle on the table.

“I can take him for a moment if you wish, so you can eat your breakfast.”

She nodded absently and set her son in Killian’s arms — it had become absolutely natural already, the weight of a baby and the position of his arm to support it — and reached for a cup.

“What about Emma?”

“She wants to come home.” When they both looked at him with wide eyes, clearly trying to let it sink in, the way he had not an hour ago, Killian added, “She called me early this morning, asked me to come get her and her things here.”

“Ooh, that’s wonderful!”. The joy on Mary Margaret’s face could light up the darkest room. David was grinning, too; even baby Leo stopped crying and was gurgling softly, looking content. Killian nodded and got up to pace.

“It is. Only there is a spot of a problem: I don’t have a way to get there.”

“Because she expects you on the _Jolly Roger_ ,” Mary Margaret said, realization dawning. “And your ship isn’t here.”

“Where is it, anyway?” David frowned, licking powdered sugar off his fingers. “You never said.”

“It’s… not available, is the point,” Killian evaded. “And I promised Emma I would get there as soon as possible. Which is why you need to teach me all about the means of transportation in this land, aye? I know portals are out of the question, but what about the flying machines?”

He shuddered even as he said it. He was the man of the sea, the only flying through the air he had ever done was that aboard his ship fitted with a Pegasus sail — and he didn’t have the best memories from that time. But he would do anything to get to Emma.

“They won’t let you on a plane, Hook,” David said, “not without an identification document, and you don’t have any.”

“Okay, then — one of those... cars. It can’t be more difficult to navigate that than a ship. You could teach me quickly.”

David and Mary Margaret looked at each other, communicating without a word, the way longtime couples did sometimes. Then they nodded, simultaneously, and David turned to Killian.

“I will drive with you. We’ll take the truck so we can fit all of Emma’s things. It’s a bit of a long drive, though, so we should start soon.”

“No offence, mate, but you look like you haven’t slept in days. And you can’t leave your wife all alone with the little one.”

Mary Margaret scoffed. “ _Please_. I took the Kingdom back from the Evil Queen, are you saying I can’t manage a baby by myself for a couple of days? And I’m not alone. I have plenty of friends here if I need any help.” Then her brow furrowed in concern. “But Killian is right, you are tired, David. Perhaps it would be best to go tomorrow, instead? Get you a room at Granny’s tonight, maybe, so you could rest—”

“No. Emma needs us. We’re going today.”

Killian agreed wholeheartedly. But he would also prefer to get to New York in one piece. He looked down at Leo, fast asleep in his arms. If he set the boy down in his bassinet, there was a significant chance he might awake instantly — they’d found that out the hard way. The baby just appeared to prefer to sleep on people.

He nodded to the stairs instead. “I can go up to Emma’s room with the little one, let you get a couple more hours of sleep if you want. And then we could go.”

David looked between him and Mary Margaret.

“Okay. Let me just call Regina, let her know I’ll be out of town for a couple of days.”

It was just past 10 a.m. when they left Storybrooke — Killian, David and Henry, who invited himself to the trip, claiming he needed to pack his things and say goodbye to his New York friends, and who never stopped bouncing in his seat with excitement from the moment they passed the town line.

By the time they got to New York, Killian’s skin was buzzing with anticipation. Henry was pointing out different places they passed, talking about their history or meaning, but Killian paid only half a mind to his words. The rest was occupied with thoughts of Emma. He would get to see her, soon. In mere minutes, perhaps. How would their meeting go? Probably better than the last time he’d found her here, what with her remembering him this time, and actually having _asked_ him to come, but—

She asked _him_ to come get her. Not her father. Not anyone else.

And she _did_ ask, instead of just packing up and driving herself back to Storybrooke. That had to mean something.

(Maybe it just meant she had a lot of things and needed his ship to transport them.)

(His ship that he didn’t have anymore. Which she didn’t know. What if she asked?)

(Of course she would ask.)

“We’re here!”

Henry’s excited voice cut through Killian’s thoughts. The vehicle had stopped and when he looked through the window, they were indeed _here_ , in front of the building where he’d found Emma the last time. It looked somewhat more menacing tonight, even though he knew he was welcome this time.

“Okay, lad,” he said. “Let’s go surprise your mom.”

Killian’s heart pounded as he raised his hand to knock on the familiar door — and then it skipped a beat when the door opened, revealing Emma, sleepy-eyed and lovely in a loose, faded sweater that slipped off her shoulder. Her eyes grew wide when she saw him, and she combed her fingers through her tousled hair.

“Hello, Swan.”

“Killian! What— How? I wasn’t expecting you sooner than in a day or two.”

“Surprise?”

And then Henry and David jumped into view from where they were hiding on both sides of the door.

“Surprise!”

Surprise was right. The initial fluttering in her stomach at the sight of Killian slid away and was replaced by utter confusion.

“Henry? Dad?”

She’d never called David dad before, but the past couple of weeks away from him had broken down that barrier that wouldn’t let herself give into accepting him as family, for fear of that family being taken away. The meaning was not lost on him, and she could see that his eyes had welled up, although admittedly that could be more about the sleep-deprivation that Killian had told her about — he did look incredibly tired.

She had very little time to process all that though before Henry was hurling himself at her. While she appreciated that he was still little enough to show her such affection, he clearly didn’t know his own strength and nearly knocked her off her feet with the force of his hug.

“Thanks for coming around, mom,” he whispered into her ear, before shoving her aside to bound into the apartment. “What food have you got?” he shouted over his shoulder, already throwing open the kitchen cupboards in his quest for food. “I’m starving!”

David pulled her into a quick, but tight, hug, cupping the back of her head in that special way of his and tugging at her heartstrings in the process. He followed his grandson into the kitchen and that left her alone with Killian. Of a sorts. He was still out in the hallway, leaning back against the wall opposite her front door.

“Swan,” Killian greeted her with a nod and a smirk.

Dammit, just that little quirk of his lips sent her heart racing. She ignored it in favour of some practicalities. “What are they — why are you —” she shook her head, uncertain exactly which question was the most pressing right now. “What?” was all she eventually came up with.

Killian pushed off the wall with his foot. “Well —”

“Mom, you have absolutely no food.”

Emma whirled round and had to suppress the urge to laugh at her little man, hands on hips and expression stern. She put him in mind of her father, who came up behind him, planting his hands on hips in the exact same way. She tried not to laugh, but she was certain that David noticed for he suddenly moved to fold his arms across his chest instead.

“He’s right, Emma, what have you been eating?”

Emma did actually laugh now. There was something about the sight of a man her own age pulling the dad card on her — even if he was, in fact, her father — that just struck her as hilarious. And if it also gave her a warm glow, well that was by the by.

Henry rolled his eyes at her. “Come on grandpa,” he announced, grabbing hold of David’s arm, “let’s get pizza.”

And a moment later, Emma was really alone with Killian.

It was intense — more feeling there than before she’d left after all their heart to hearts on the phone but with the added bashfulness that came from not having seen him for two weeks. From having left him.

She hoped he didn’t hold that against her. The soft way he was looking at her, with something that might have been disbelief in his eyes, suggested that he didn’t. But she’d never been the best at reading people.

_Until I met you._

She brushed aside the thought — of how perfectly his words to her now echoed her feelings for him — it was a lot easier to read someone when they wore their heart on their sleeve. Probably everyone could read Killian.

She wished she was good at words. In the absence of them, she was left to stare, and she felt like she was veering dangerously close to pining. That’s what you called that hunger, that need for someone else, wasn’t it? That tension you felt around them that made you want to pounce on them and feel their body against yours.

“Rum?” “Rum?”

They spoke in unison, then laughed at themselves

“Guess I’m getting the rum,” Emma said.

She was glad of something to do. Something that didn’t involve just kissing Killian senseless or having her wicked way with him or confessing to some kind of strange and confusing _feelings._

She’d just get home and then they could figure out what they were after that.

She grabbed two glasses and poured generous measures of rum into each. They sat at her table — when he came to find her in New York they’d been on opposite sides of the table but this time, they sat side by side, sipping at their rum in companionable silence.

“So what’s with David and Henry?” she asked after a few minutes of just basking in his presence.

“You know the lad’s been eager to come get you, I couldn’t keep him away.”

“And David?” Emma pressed. “Shouldn’t he be home with Leo?”

“Your mother felt that she could manage one night alone, and that the need to hasten your return to Storybrooke was the top priority.”

That made absolutely no sense to Emma — how exactly was David coming along for the journey going to speed up her return? Hadn’t Killian said that the Jolly Roger practically sailed itself?

“I didn’t know that David was a sailor.”

Killian scoffed. “He wouldn’t know his boom from his ballast if it hit him in the face.”

“Errr —” Emma assumed that was ship-talk, but it meant nothing to her “— sure. So what use is he to you in navigating the Jolly Roger?”

“Ah.” Killian scratched behind his ear and avoided meeting her eyes.

“You did bring the Jolly?”

“Not as such.”

Killian was being shifty and Emma couldn’t figure out why, she studied him closely as he played with his glass with his hand and his cheeks had gone a little pink. Come to think of it, Emma couldn’t remember having seen his boat — his _ship_ — since he’d come to get her in New York the last time.

There was something important that she was missing here and she couldn’t figure out what, exactly, it might be.

And a new question suddenly occurred to her, that might give her the answers she was looking for.

“How did you get to me?”

“Hmmm?” Killian looked up. “You asked me to come —”

“No, not today,” Emma cut him off. “Before, when you came to find me in New York, when you brought me home… How did you do it?”

“Well, once I knew the curse was coming, I ditched my crew” — she _knew_ he didn’t need a crew! — “and took the Jolly Roger as fast and as far as I possibly could to outrun it —”

“— You outran a curse?”

He smirked — no, smiled, this was softer, _he_ was softer right now — and looked her dead in the eyes. “I’m a hell of a captain, love.” She rolled her eyes at him, even as she privately agreed.

Then the flirtation was gone, the switch between cocksure captain and serious storyteller was instantaneous.

“Once I was outside the curse’s purview, I knew that the walls were down, transport between the worlds was possible again, I just needed a magic bean.”

“Those aren’t easy to come by.”

“They are if you have something of value to trade.”

Oh God, was he saying what she thought he was saying?

“And what was that?”

“Why the Jolly Roger of course!” He smirked, looking her in the eye again, a challenge to see this moment as a harmless flirtation.

She couldn’t. She felt like someone was squeezing her heart right now. He gave up the Jolly Roger — he gave up his home for her? And she turned her back on him and left for New York.

Oh God.

“You traded your ship for me?” She whispered the words, struggling to talk with the overwhelming wave of emotion she felt. He hadn’t said — likely never would have said, if she hadn’t asked, not wanting her to feel indebted to him.

He must truly lo— well, what he felt for her was obviously special, important, to him.

She had to make it known that he was special to her too.

She leaned in —

“PIZZA!” The door crashed open and Henry shouted as he burst into the room. “Honest to God New York pizza!! I. Am. In. Heaven.”

He dropped the pizza box down on the table and said, matter of fact to Killian, “in New York, you fold pizza, no plates or —” he shudders “— cutlery.”

David came in behind him, shrugging apologetically.

Emma couldn’t imagine a more effective mood killer than the sudden appearance of a pre-teen boy inhaling a slice of pizza that was likely bigger than his head.

And yet.

The mood wasn’t dead, not completely. For her at least there was the tension of possibility . The weight of finally understanding that Killian would go to the ends of the world for her — and then some, into the next realm — sat with her. But instead of feeling weighed down by it, she felt lifted up. This man, this handsome, infuriating, charming, kind man, wanted her and he’d never push her to be his or make demands of her.

But she wanted to be his and she could giggle at the thought. She was going to kiss Captain Hook and hopefully do a damn sight more to him as well.

She kept shooting furtive glances at Killian. He was picking at his food, and avoiding her eye, while smiling at Henry’s suggestion that Emma “learn how to magic pizza from New York to Storybrooke, like, yesterday.”

She had finally choked down as much of the pizza as she could manage when she stood up. “Hey Killian,” she announced and everyone looked at her in surprise, “there’s something that I need to show you on the roof.”

She practically dragged Killian from the room and up the stairs.

“What is it, Swan?” Killian asked, hand on his cutlass, looking around the roof suspiciously. “Do you think there could be another flying monkey?”

“Oh it was, um, the lights.” Emma gestured to the view from the roof, not taking her eyes off him. “The view. You know. You didn’t really get to take it all in last time.”

“Shiny,” Killian said then narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m starting to think that you lured me here under false pretences.”

“Who, me?” she said, feigning innocence.

“Are you planning to have your wicked way with me?” He laughed as he said it, but she could swear that he looked hopeful.

She sauntered close to him, and leaned in. “Maybe.”

His jaw dropped open ever so slightly. She pulled back and smirked, but then switched out of seductive mode. Killian deserved her sincerity. She wanted him to know that she really meant this.

“You traded your ship for me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact. But nonetheless, Killian responded,

“Aye.”

She wanted to say something, but nothing seemed quite right, so instead she did what she did best, she _acted_ — leaning in and pressing her lips to his.

It was soft and gentle and yet it sent fire through her veins from the very moment their lips touched. Even just this small tender kiss had her completely gone for this man forever. She might never recover.

She hoped she didn’t.

She pulled back — just enough to see his reaction. It was joy, pure joy and wonder that radiated from him, and in that moment she realised that Storybrooke may be Home, but it wouldn’t be anything without Killian by her side.

Killian came to New York with no expectations.

Hope, yes — hope that all those evenings of talking to Emma on the phone had been just as important to her as they’d been to him. That the feeling of how those conversations had brought them closer wasn’t his alone.

Hope that she’d be happy to see him.

But there was also trepidation there. What if she didn’t take it well, when he admitted what had become of the _Jolly Roger_? And admit he would, there was no way to avoid that now. What if she got angry, take it as… presumptuous or as a debt she’d have to pay off? What if she thought less of him now, the captain without his ship?

But her eyes were warm and soft when he told her, emotions flashing over her beautiful face in a way more open than he had ever seen her display, and for a moment he thought she was going to _kiss_ him — and then Henry and David returned with the food and the moment was gone, leaving him to wonder if it _was_ only a moment, or if he’d even read too much into it. If Emma’s walls would come right back up, thicker than ever.

Only then they were on the roof of her building and the innumerable lights of the city paled in comparison to her eyes, and it felt like everything that happened since he’d arrived in this realm for the first time — every little moment — led him to this. This place. This magnificent woman, looking at him with so much warmth in her eyes.

This kiss.

It was unlike that first kiss they’d shared, which had been all challenge and tension and a _one time thing_.

This one was soft and gentle and only lasted a second, but it was _everything_ : real and full of intention and a long time coming. But most of all, it felt like a promise. A beginning.

Killian looked into Emma’s eyes when she pulled back and saw all the joy overflowing his heart reflected there, and he knew.

“Swan?” he whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

_Home._

**Author's Note:**

> Shared as part of the CS January Joy event on tumblr, check out the other fics and the beautiful pics over there [@csjanuaryjoy](https://csjanuaryjoy.tumblr.com/) and show our fellow creators all the love!


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